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TO THE NEW MOON.

AH, stay awhile thy silver horn!

That hastens now so fast away, Adown the western pathway borne,

Closing the rear of parting day!

Sweet queen

of heaven! thou canst not find, In all thy daily circled course, One who more feels within his mind

Thy soft persuasive beauty's force.

Thou canst not find in all thy way

One who more loves thee in his soul: Then why dost thou so quick away

From me thy silver crescent roll?

Thou goest o'er the lonely deep,

To waste thy beams upon the tide, Where only sea-born monsters sweep,

Unheeding of thy radiant pride:

Or on some woody mountain's head,

Canadian wilds shall drink thy ray, Where savage panthers prowling tread, And savage men more fierce than they:

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Or on the long Atlantic shore,

The realm of trade thy view shall greet, Where busy labour plies the oar,

And jostles in the crowded street.

Unhonour'd and unnotic'd there

Thou shalt illume the pallid sky:Then why to these dull sons of care,

Bright queen! dost thou so quickly fly?

Do these allure thee to the west?

Dost thou prefer these scenes to me? Nor can a poet's woe-fraught breast

Claim any privilege from thee?

The idlest of the idle train,

The meanest too with heart forlorn, He pours to thee his lonely strain,

And gazes on thy parting horn.

He hails thee as a well known friend,

A friend of past and better days; To thee his fond affections tend;

His sad heart lightens in thy rays.

But not for man's weak plaints her laws

Shall constant nature e'er suspend, Nor stop th' unintermitting cause

Whence planets in their orbits tend.

Ah no!—Tho' once a hero's tongue

Bade thee on Ajalon stand still, No wandering poet's feeble song

Can stay thee on thy western hill.

Unmindful of his ardent pray'r,

Thou shalt thy steady course pursue, And to each clime alike shalt bear

Of life and joy proportion due.

Oh could I mount and soar with thee

Far, far above this world of care! And sailing with thee o'er the sea,

Look down upon the nether air! !

Enfranchis'd from its earthly load,

My raptur'd spirit should aspire, And in thy pure serene abode,

Forget each fear and each desire.

Then, as upon the mimic sphere,

We'd trace each river's waving line, Each gloomy wood, or desert drear,

Each long-drawn mountain's craggy spine;

And view where Europe rollid beneath,

Her plains to despot pow'r resign'd, Her streams so late distain'd with death,

Nor sigh to leave the scene behind;

And where old Ocean roll'd below

In billowy pride his wide expanse, Mark how his swelling waters glow,

While mellow moonbeams o'er them dance.

Or there, perhaps, we shall survey,

While o'er their bark the sea-spray flies, Unhappy men who long for day,—

But day on them shall never rise!

Still westward in our course we glide,

And to our view the land appears, Once the lov'd source of swelling pride,

Still lov'd but ah! the source of tears;

That land whence order slow retires,

And headlong faction rears her claim; Where Freedom kindled patriot fires,

But Commerce quench'd the rising flame.

Yet tho' the land of trade it be,

No farther would I wish to roam; It still has many charms for me,

For 'tis my country 'tis my home.

And liberal nature there has spread,

To sooth the feeling mind, her stores; Green groves there nod the lofty head,

And winding waters wash the shores.

And there, more worth than groves or streams,

The living life of beauty shines: From many an eye its lustre beams,

And many a heart its force refines.

There, 'midst the rest one maid is found,

For whom with joy I'd quit the skiesShe whom my heart to love is bound;

Whom reason and affection prize.

And though with thee secure I range

Along the blue star-sprinkled plain, 'Tis Beauty bids me wish to change,

And lures me back to earth again.

But, ah! I dream!—No starry plain

My weary wandering foosteps treadNo native land appears again

Beneath, in varied prospects spread.

No once lov'd beauty cheers my sight-'!

But while I cast my eyes around, Yon castle on the rocky height

Tells me I tread on Scottish ground.

Go, then!—and from this troubled breast

Its vain regrets, its wishes bear
Go! give thy glories to the west!
Go!-while the Wanderer tarries here.

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